I visited my mom’s grave for the first time.
For the first time in four years and for the first time, ever.
On Saturday, it just felt right to sit with her for a while.
Finding myself without flowers, I left a stalk of spring asparagus at her grave. It was either that or the rhubarb.
I planted the stalk inside a tiny pot of yellow calendula my father must have left. I’m sure he was rather puzzled when he visited on Sunday.
When I left Lakewood, I sought consolation in Potter’s Pasties.
The crust was rich and flaky. Jake and I split a traditional pasty and one filled with pork and apple.
They made me feel a little better.